


Hooked

by intergalacticbooty



Series: Dark Fic [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Drug Abuse, Drug Addict Dean, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealer Roman, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Underage Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Referenced Child Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticbooty/pseuds/intergalacticbooty
Summary: Dean was just a kid when he got hooked on goods that Roman offered.





	Hooked

**Author's Note:**

> Don't write dark fics often, so I wanted to try my hand at one. Let me know what you guys think and if you'd like similar or different things in the future!

He remembered the first time he saw him. Two women draped over his arms, the scent of smoke, liquor, and sex high in the air.

Couldn’t have been a day over 16, looking rough and fucked up and homeless, a black eye forming around one that had hardly healed. Too thin, wiry and still growing, with droopy, sad blue eyes and dimples that were visible even as he scowled. Was dragged in by Sami, a regular of Roman’s since he got into the game about 3 years ago.

Roman never really cared about the ages of his clients. If kids wanted to melt their brains snorting and smoking on his supply, it was their fucking business and it kept his business afloat.

He handed them a few tablets and told them they could bum around the place for a bit since it was the auburn haired kid’s first hit.

“Dean.” He had grunted out, voice raspy as if he had been smoking since he came out the womb.

Hell, maybe he did.

Again, none of Roman’s business what he clients did and when or where they did it.

Although he sort of regretted offering his space when he found one of those punks vomited on his back porch. At least they paid for their shit in full.

-

Dean kept coming back to him after that night, even after good ol’ Sami had overdosed, using too much of some new shit Roman didn’t sell because he wasn’t stupid and didn’t jump on the bandwagon for new supply crazes. He sold shit because he knew people wanted it, they were stables, shit that would always be in supply. Crack, cocaine, heroin, PCP, and a little bit of LSD for some clients. Didn’t want to risk blowing up shit with meth, but he had a buddy of his he could refer people to if the mood struck for some.

Years passed, Dean went from a wiry kid to a lithe man, from dragging himself in looking like he had been beaten to looking like he had been doing the beating. Roman could tell he probably quite literally fought for his money and he spent at least half of it on things to snort or swallow or, when he had a particularly high income on a given week, inject. All from Roman’s supply. He almost felt bad.

Almost.

-

“Been comin’ to you for over a fuckin’ decade and you can’t hit a brother with a lil’ something for just a lil’ bit less?” Dean rubbed at his collarbone, Roman huffing smoke out around a cigar as he leaned back in his too expensive chair, brushing back the vibrant hair of one of his many conquests as she laid lazily across the plush carpet and his lap.

“So you mean to tell me you’ve been coming to me for fucking years and you’re still too stupid to know my rules?” The other man bristled at that, before twitching a little.

Roman had very few rules. Don’t ask him about the high because he doesn’t use his own shit and never will, don’t cause problems in his house or his hood, and don’t ask for fucking discounts. Pay the full price or get the fuck out.

“Fuck you.” Dean spat at him, rubbing violently at his collarbone, flexing his muscles a little. Defensive and offensive in one, always looked like he was ready to lung at someone.

He tapped his cigar a bit, smirking at the kid. Jesus had time flown by, because there was no way the addict in front of him could be seen as a kid. He had to be at least 30 now and Roman was pushing 40 himself. He aged better than Dean had, naturally, but his muscle had filled out nice, those ever present dimples still obvious, and his beard and chest hair had filled out, a hint of red to it like the mop on top of his head. Damn shame, he was kind of a pretty thing.

“Don’t bang junkies, sweetheart, you know that.” Roman squeezed the ass of the girl on the floor who moaned in response, preening a little as she tossed back some of her purple locks. “Now get the fuck out and come back when you have the proper bills.”

Dean tweaked out a bit then, Roman saw the telltale flux as he shouted, tossing everything off of Roman’s table, lunging at him. The girl whose name Roman had easily forgotten screamed and ran out of the room like someone had lit her ass on fire. Dean grabbed at his shirt collar, breath hot and just on the latter side of putrid as his baby blues, bloodshot and crazed, bulged.

Roman grabbed at his wrist easily, pulling Dean off and swinging, punching him square in the jaw once, twice. Sure, the kid had gotten stronger with age, but Roman had no issue overpowering him. “Breakin’ two fucking rules in one night, Ambrose?” He glared down at the crumbled form of the trembling junkie. “Damn shame, you were one of my favorite clients.”

“P-Puh…Please…fuck…” Dean spat blood out on Roman’s carpet, sitting up on shaky limbs, face beginning to swell. “N-Need a fix, man, please!” He never begged, not once since Roman had been supplying him, doubted the man had a bone of humility or weakness in him. “L-Lost a fight, didn’t get paid much, but I fuckin’ swear I got ya next week, jus’ need a hit…”

“Don’t fucking do discounts, kid. Don’t do IOUs, either.” Roman was ready to drag him out by the back of his thread barren shirt when Dean lifted a hand up to Roman’s belt buckle, fumbling with it. “The fuck you trying to pull?” Roman yanked his hand off, tugging Dean by his hair.

“G-Give you the money…I-I can pay for the difference with somethin’ else.” Dean trembled, eyes looking more desperate.

“Said I don’t fuck junkies.” He glared down at Dean. “Or are you stupid AND deaf?”

“Y-You can use my mouth…” Dean shivered, clawing at Roman’s thigh desperately, crazed like few of Roman’s clientele had been. They usually died or he cut them out of his client base before they got this bad. There never was a shortage of people to replace them.

Just like there was never a shortage of clean, consensual fucking Roman could have. He was a good looking man, had his fair selection of women and men and took plenty of them gladly. Usually didn’t smash the same person more than once, though. Didn’t get attached like that. Never had to beg or pay for a fuck, never exchanged sex for drugs. But it wasn’t a spoke rule.

There was still come dripping down Dean’s heaving chest as he shoved the needle in his arm, eyes rolling back in glee at the foot of Roman’s bed.

-

It became a norm for them after that.

Roman would dismiss whatever men or women that had found themselves in his home and Dean, whether victorious or defeated, because Roman’s prices had risen and he was almost always short on cash, fell to his knees and had his throat fucked until he gagged.

His voice was even raspier after, fucked well as he muttered litanies of praises as his next high took over his body. “Fuuuuck…” He would breath out, soft eyelashes fluttering as he stared up at Roman. “…swear this shit keeps gettin’ better and better…”

Kid didn’t need to know Roman snapped a pic of him passed out, come splattered on his chest and track marks visible on his arms. Definitely didn’t need to know Roman used it as a background for his private, non-business phone.

They had gotten into such a habit that when Dean came and actually had the right amount to pay, giddy with anticipation and excitement as he scratched at his neck. “Took down this big fucker, Samoa Joe or somethin’…beat him to a pulp and got three times as much.” His hands were antsy as he passed Roman over the money, but the drug dealer scowled. “…’s there a problem, Ro? Need…need my shit man.”

“Suck me first.”

“Yer prices go up again?” Dean rolled his eyes, opening his wallet and taking out a few more bills, hands getting more uneasy as the wait became extended. “How much more, man?”

Roman glowered, because that wouldn’t fucking do. He had to face the fact he had become just as hooked up on Dean as Dean has been to him for years. “Told you to fucking suck me, bitch. Do I have to repeat myself?” He grabbed the addict’s hair, down to the scalp, shoving him down onto his knees.

“Heh…” Dean smirked up at him, those dangerous dimples overcoming his face and those droopy blues with a dangerous glint. “…if ya wanted my mouth, Romie, jus’ had to say so…”

He fucked Dean’s mouth extra hard and for the first time ever, told Dean to take his cock out during their little transaction as well. The kid did, his own cock hard and dripping as he tugged on it while having his air cut off by Roman’s own thick length. Huh, no wonder he was so fucking good at sucking Roman, knew how to work an uncut cock because he had one himself.

Roman was getting attached, knew he was fucking fallen when he pet through Dean’s hair as he injected himself. Always gave him the high quality shit when he sucked him off extra well.

-

Funnily enough, he didn’t fuck Dean for the first time in exchange for a hit. He just stumbled in on the man at some bar. Roman held alcohol well and not to his surprise, so did Dean. They couldn’t use being drunk as an excuse. Couldn’t use anything as an excuse.

Roman just pushed him into the alley behind the bar, yanked his jeans down to his thighs and spat at his pink little hole. He was rough, rougher than he had ever been with his conquests, but unlike them he knew Dean could take it and beg for more.

“Fuck, big man…breakin’ me in half…” Dean panted out, like a goddamn bitch in heat, bending his spine too easily and clenching around Roman’s cock like he was made for it.

He just growled, pulling at auburn hair and hammered away until he came, not caring if Dean enjoyed it or not. He did, though, if the come against the brick was any indication. Dean spun around and captured Roman’s mouth with his own, the putrid taste of slowly rotting teeth and alcohol was intoxicating to Roman.

-

The next time Dean had visited him, Roman had no one else in his house. He wasn’t interested in any conquests, officially addicted to his scrappy, mentally unstable client. “You’re mine, you understand?” The nasty black eye over Dean’s right eye from a bad fight caused him to snap, grabbing the other man by his throat and squeezing. “No one fucking else’s, huh? You go nowhere without my permission again, you fight no one, you come to me for everything from now on, right?”

“A-All yers, big dog…” Dean croaked out, grabbing at Roman’s wrist and smirking with what little breath he could muster out.

He never fought again, never hungered or craved for anything again. Because Roman made fucking sure he got everything he fucking needed and nothing less. Every high, every fuck, every single goddamn thing Roman gave him.

-

Marek told Seth about this place, about how it was the greatest high he had ever gotten and the dealer was fucking hot as hell. Seth had never tried anything himself, but after his friend had shoved a few hundreds in his hands with address of his dealer, telling him they would have the time of their lives together with just a few pills, he caved.

It really didn’t look like any drug house Seth had imagined. He stepped into the living room, finding a tan man with piercing eyes, a strong jaw, and long black hair smoking a cigar with a strung out auburn haired male over his lap, blissfully lulling his head as if he wasn’t even there.

“U-Um…I’m…here to pick up the f-few…tablets.” The teen stammered out, eyes wide as the dealer gently and lovingly pushed back some hair out of the obvious druggie’s eyes.

“I got the tablets.” He started, shifting on the couch. “If you got the money.”


End file.
